


Timing Isn't Everything

by shinigami714



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/pseuds/shinigami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the final days of filming The Hobbit everyone is exhausted and on edge.  Dean lets it get to him, and he blurts out some important and unexpected words at a decidedly poor time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timing Isn't Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Fandom Raffle Exchange on tumblr! The prompt was: Blurting out “I love you” in the most inappropriate moment. If all goes well, I hope to finish one more prompt fill before the deadline! Also I love Aidean, I'd love to write more of it. Not opposed to some simple prompts.

The last few days of shooting were some of the worst. Not that Dean didn’t enjoy it…he did, immensely. It was just so very draining. Everyone was emotionally strained and completely exhausted, from the actors, right down to the hundreds of people working behind the scenes.  Somehow he’d thought it might be easy, returning for call backs. But the scenes they were filming took every ounce of his energy away. Each night he crashed as soon as he got out of costume, falling into the tiny bed inside his trailer without a second thought. He worked from sunrise ‘til sunset, sometimes later, and hadn’t had a moment of spare time to spend with the rest of the cast outside of filming.

They were nearing the end, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he had to film the fateful scene in which Fíli died. His last scene. He didn’t know how it would happen, but he knew for sure it would be soon, and honestly, he was dreading watching his on screen brother go through the same torture. Dean could see the anxiety in everyone’s faces, none more than Aidan. The brunet seemed ready to keel over at any moment, and Dean desperately wished he had more time to relax and let loose with the other man.

Truthfully, tired as he was, he didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to watch his character die on the big screen. Nor did he want Kíli to die. He knew it would be just as painful to witness, perhaps even more so than his own crucial final scene. He didn’t want Aidan to have to go through that sort of pain either. But most of all, he didn’t want to say goodbye. Not to the cast, the crew, the sets, his character, the beautiful world he’d immersed himself in for so long.

And not to Aidan.

He’d been dwelling on it a lot…what life would be like after The Hobbit. Would he ever see the other cast members again? Would he ever see Aidan again? He knew they were both lazy when it came to staying in contact. And realistically, work was going to take both of them far away from one another. It was unlikely they’d see each other much, if at all. And for some reason, that thought made Dean’s chest seize up painfully.

He was in the middle of filming one of the last scenes he’d have with the other man when he was suddenly caught by the realization that he might never get to be in a movie with Aidan again. The lines he was about to say, might be the last he spoke to the brunet on screen. They were huddled beneath a tunnel, creeping around the icy cavern, looking worn and weary. Dean glanced in the direction he was meant to, trying to stay focused on the scene so that they wouldn’t have to film it a hundred times like some of the others. He didn’t think he could handle that. Not with this.

He pressed the other man against the wall, holding him back, his fingers flat against the brunet’s chest. He knew what came next. He was to hold him off, stop his brother from going on, because he knew what awaited him. And he absolutely couldn’t let Kíli die like that, he couldn’t let Aidan die like that. Not first, never first. Dean turned towards his friend with desperate eyes, holding him in place forcefully, his hand just over the other man’s heart. Aidan looked ready to charge in, like always, and Dean was forced to stifle a chuckle. He saw the conviction in the brunet’s dark eyes and in that moment he was lost to the world.

There was something about the look in Aidan’s eyes that always captivated him. They were so emotive, so intense. They told stories. They concealed hurt, pain, but also exhibited so much joy and lit up like two tiny dancing flames when he laughed. Even whilst acting, Dean could see his soul, he was sure of it. And goodness, his eyelashes were long. It was…hypnotizing.

“I love you so much,” Dean rasped, staring at his friend intently. He didn’t even realise the words left his lips, but he saw the way Aidan’s face morphed into one of shock.   The brunet’s eyebrows rose and crinkled together slightly, his mouth opening slightly as he looked back at his friend.

“D-Dean?” Aidan stuttered, and suddenly the other man wasn’t Kíli anymore, and Dean wasn’t Fíli. They weren’t acting, they were just two men, two close friends, and it dawned on the blond, just what words he’d spoken aloud. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even told the crew he was gay, let alone in love with his best friend. Truthfully he hadn’t even admitted it to himself before that very moment.

There was a long dreadfully terrifying minute of absolute silence during which Dean was sure his heart was working its way right out of his chest. His face heated when he heard a few hushed whispers from the crew, but his gaze stayed locked on Aidan’s, taking in the myriad of emotions passing through his eyes. The blond felt like dying, crawling into the tunnels and finding a cavern to roll up and hibernate in for the rest of his pathetic life. When they dismantled the set maybe they’d find his withered up corpse, or maybe the rats would get to it first. He could only hope.

“Uh…Dean,” Peter spoke up, finally drawing his attention away, and Dean turned his head warily to take in the crew, rolling cameras and all. Several people had hands over their mouths, some just stood silently, but one thing was for sure, absolutely everyone was looking right at him. And his confession was permanently on film for everyone to see.

“I don’t mean to interrupt…your moment, but that’s not really the line I’ve got down for you…,” the director spoke casually, as though Dean hadn’t just confessed his love at the worst possible time. What the hell was he thinking? Dean pulled his hand back from Aidan’s body in a flash, and turned around to face the opposite wall of the cavern.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. Dean shook out his arms and ran the back of his hand across his brow as he closed his eyes and struggled to compose himself. He couldn’t bear to look at Aidan. He was terrified what he might see in his emotive eyes. If there was disgust there…or even worse, hatred, Dean didn’t think he could make it through the rest of the scene facing such a thing. But he was a professional, damn it, and he had to suck it up and act like one. He took a deep breath, stretched out his shoulders and turned around.

“Sorry, let’s try that again,” Dean voiced, stepping back into position. He avoided making eye contact with the man at his side, but a subtle nudge against his arm had him looking towards him anyway, and he swallowed when his eyes inadvertently connected with Aidan’s gaze. For the first time, Dean wasn’t quite sure what the other man was thinking. He seemed almost…guarded, or afraid. Aidan licked his lips and looked away, and he started fidgeting, playing with the edges of his tunic anxiously. He did that when he was nervous. He wouldn’t stop moving, couldn’t keep his eyes focused on one thing in particular. When given the chance, he would talk endlessly about nothing in particular, but he wasn’t able to in the midst of filming. He likely didn’t even have the energy to do so. Dean sighed and frowned, upset that he’d caused his friend further stress on their final day of filming. But then a hand slipped inside his and stopped his treacherous thoughts in their path.

“We’re almost there,” Aidan murmured, his gaze lowered so that he looked towards the ground where their feet lingered beside each other. The brunet nibbled lightly on his lower lip then squeezed his fingers ever so slightly. Dean could barely feel it through the prosthetic, but it was enough to urge him on. Aidan was nervous around him, but he didn’t hate him. Dean could live with that. It was to be expected really.

They shot a few more takes, getting one that Peter called ‘dreadfully perfect’, and then it was on to the next, even more gruelling scenes. They both looked completely wrecked at the end of the day and if Dean was forced to endure Aidan getting stabbed to death one more time, he thought he might walk out, forfeit the rest of his paycheque and abandon the franchise entirely.

He wasted little time getting out of his costume. As soon as the makeup was off he strode towards his trailer without a glance behind. Everyone had been quiet, probably experiencing similar mixed emotions about the end of filming, though Dean figured his inner turmoil was just a bit more complicated. He was just about ready to settle down for the night when a soft knock came at the door to his trailer. Dean turned towards it curiously, not expecting company after such a gruelling day, and when he answered the door he just stood there looking outside for a moment in wonder. Aidan was standing just outside, his gaze directed at something off to the side as he played with some stray curls at the edge of his brow.

“Aid, uh...hey,” Dean uttered, not quite sure how to act in front of his friend after blurting out a love confession on set.

“H-hey,” Aidan murmured, glancing up only briefly, before shrugging his shoulders and stuffing his hands into well-worn pockets. There were circles under his eyes, and his body language spoke volumes about his desperate need of sleep, and yet…there he was, not in bed at all. Dean thought he looked amazing; stunning even, though Aidan always seemed to shine regardless of what he wore or how crappy he felt. The other man had come down with a cold once on set, and even curled up with Kleenex shoved into his nostrils he somehow managed to look like a fashion model. It was part of the reason Dean always found himself compelled to take photos of the other man.

“Can I…come in?” Aidan asked hesitantly. He sounded unsure, his voice quiet and timid. Dean was surprised he asked at all to be honest, but he figured under the circumstances it made sense. Usually Aidan didn’t need permission, the brunet typically just walked right on in, grabbed himself a beer, and sprawled long legs over whatever chair or seat happened to be close and available. Dean gaped at him, looking him up and down, unsure whether or not he was ready for the conversation to come, and eventually the other man began to fidget.

“I know you’re probably knackered, but I-,” Aidan began, and he was rubbing at his arm like he expected Dean to turn him away. The blond realised he was standing there staring at him blankly when large brown eyes connected with his own, and he stepped aside and held the door open clumsily.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Dean blurted, flushing slightly at how lame he sounded. Were there any more ways to say yes in the span of just a few seconds?

“You know you’re always welcome in my humble abode,” Dean murmured as the other man stepped in beside him, and he was sure Aidan’s ears reddened, though it could have been the low lighting in his trailer. Dean fumbled over his own feet as he hurried to grab his friend a beer, and soon the two of them were sitting next to each other on his tiny sofa. Aidan fell back against the cushions with a heavy sigh before he pulled his feet up over Dean’s thighs. The blond laughed and reached out to tug at his friend’s toes, grateful that their easygoing relationship didn’t seem to have suffered, despite his poorly timed words earlier in the day. Aidan’s head tilted slightly to the side as he took a swig of beer, and then Dean found himself under the scrutiny of uncharacteristically serious eyes. The brunet looked like he was thinking hard, and his eyebrows knitted together as he nibbled at his lower lip. Dean’s gaze fixated on the movement, watching Aidan’s teeth knead the reddened flesh. His eyes lowered, taking in the subtle movements in the other man’s throat and the stray hairs that lingered at the edge of his jawline. Dean was entranced, and his fingers itched to hold a camera, like they always did when he looked at Aidan.

“Did you mean what you said today?” Aidan asked, and the blond startled and looked back towards his big brown eyes. Aidan’s gaze shifted away nervously, and Dean felt his throat go dry as he wondered what he should say. He figured…it was best to be honest.

“Yeah…I think I did,” Dean voiced, watching as his friend looked back towards him with a much softer expression.

“I’m glad,” Aidan muttered, and he leaned over to put down his beer before running a hand through his dark curls. Dean heaved a sigh of relief, suddenly feeling the tension leaving his shoulders and neck. It left his head feeling heavy and his body sore. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d let his worries affect him throughout the day.

“I thought…I was the only one,” the brunet added, a faint smile upon his lips. He reached out, and Dean grasped his hand automatically, squeezing the other man’s fingers gently between his own. It was real this time, he could feel their skin touching, no longer barricaded by bulky prosthetics. It felt heavenly. It might have been the lack of sleep, or his overworked brain, but Dean felt like he was soaring, weightless as the other man turned towards him intently. Aidan pulled his feet away from Dean’s grasp and then shifted so that he was kneeling just between the blond’s legs atop the cushions. It was like they were teenagers again, hearts pounding in their chests, breaths coming in short, expectant gasps. And then their lips touched.

It was short, sweet, and remarkably timid for two men well into adulthood. A single chaste kiss followed by several even briefer ones as their noses edged around each other awkwardly. Dean’s face was on fire and Aidan’s eyes were closed as their brows faintly touched one another. Dean took a deep breath, soaking up his friend’s musky scent, and then Aidan slumped on top of him, pushing his curly haired head into the niche beneath the blond’s jaw.

“’M tired,” he slurred, his words muffled by the collar of Dean’s flannel shirt. The older man allowed his hand to run up Aidan’s spine, pausing as it reached the juncture behind the brunet’s neck, and he massaged the skin there gently, listening to the nearly inaudible sounds coming from his friend’s throat.

“You mind if I sleep ‘ere?” Aidan asked, though his eyes were already shut tight, and his breathing beginning to steady as he drifted off. Dean smirked and exhaled, wrapping his free arm around the brunet’s waist as he rubbed circles in the small of his back.

“I told you, you’re always welcome,” he whispered, letting his eyes fall shut as well. He was exhausted, achy, and feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on. But none of that mattered. Because Aidan was sleeping soundly atop his body, and Aidan wasn’t angry with him, not angry at all. Quite the opposite in fact.

“Always,” Dean reaffirmed, and it was emphasized with a gentle kiss pressed against his friend’s messy head of hair.


End file.
